The Objectification of Reason

Know you pain, know you suffering?
Lovers of light have no conceivability of pain, for they are secured in the loving waters of rebored salvation…only that broken, defeated and desolate lover of darkness knows true suffering, only that darkened spirit, of forlorn essence can comprehend the emptiness of lonesome dread…

Curse the lavish lover of life
The worst part, is when that cruelty begets evil, and succeeds…bearing forth wealth, beautiful family, health and prosperity, fame and gratitude…never famished, nor tried, having only fulfilment in their life — even after breaking and ruinously desolating another person, effectively forfeiting their life, plans, futures and opportunities…as robbing the opportunities, stricken hopeless and joyless, with grim permanence…

Tell me, wiser one…
What fairness, or proverbial reasoning is there for such absolute, and negated bleakness?  What kind, or form and semblance of an omniscient and altruistically benevolent god allows evil such flourishing, under ravishingly darkened skies…of weepingly and wearingly distraught inhabitancy?  The creator, how redound; the aboriginal thinker…allows such lamenting and sorrowful existence to flourish?  Gives evil such opportunities?  Why does death exist, having graven principality and boundless authority?  Decadence and dismay, entropy and decay…they reign unimaginable suffering always and forever, ceaselessly, without hope of remand, or reprieve. 

The unconveyable…, the irreceivable…
The depths of such absolute despair: thus laying waste to the spirit, the soul and the flesh…rejection, denial, betrayal and longing…these are the cornerstones of the foundation of misery, ov existence: these are the hallmarks of reprobation, unending…the indeterminable borrow of such unprecedented sorrow, of such lowly defeating malcontent, dissidence and wistful inheritance…there is no hell like this, the suffered so greatly magnificent, thus laid waste to mine dormant soul.  This estrangement, how bereaved; un-reprieved, the fallen fate, the cast ways’, the exiled defeat…theirs is the kingdom of sorrow, eternal…no greater pain exists, than that of the fallen, and desolated ones’.

What do we do?  How is such dealt?
With much repetition and reportorial ceaselessness, of un-acquitted and cyclic tomorrow’s…there is no future, no hope for tomorrow, and no sense or purpose to being, yet…we dread on, we concertedly press on, further, without contestable reason, without purposed quintessence…we live, suffer unto death, and die.  Life is the greatest natural depressant, and death, the most effectual antidepressant, though, and how no matter, the timeless antiquation, resplendent, quaintly stark, immutably, and damming, dimmingly, how faintly dark, this senseless serenade…

This, is that – Bridge so hapless…
The voiding emptiness weighs so heavily upon my soul…no matter the distance stowed…the coldest fog abhors this moor; darkness consumed the crying rivers around me…adrift, drifting longingly downward the endless streams…connectedness is torn, convergence inexistent, and harrowing absence pales this defeatingly broken foe…  So bleak the mistaken haplessness of this toll…waned, alone amidst solemnly brazen toil…  Pay attention to that brooding bush, where’st rooted to the grandest source, the only resource…the tree of life.

Mortuary Drapes… The Ampacity Of Animosity

There is a sombre atmosphere, within that olden funeral home,
Bleakly, how reputedly melancholic, the harrowed testament.
Darkly, how the lights are so dimmed, whence familial lament is present,
Yet, there exists a peace to be surmised, in knowing death, as one knew life.
As the pain has ceased, and is no more present, the greater the release…unwept,
Whence that dreaded day come, what are we, if not humanity’s best, undone?
    The
Thence, this fervent prayer, so solemn, that evening’s heralded mare,
Contest this, the absolutist, the amassed, for the faltered half has all but passed.
Beyond this, the depthless precipice, of despairing existence, seemingly endless…,
The abyss exudes deep within, festering as a hurtful secret, amidst the core of sin.
Lessened then, beheld, the shapelessness of despair, and the weightlessness of time,
If not unhallowed, what are we then, to the quintessence of antiquity and time?
    Great
The sorrowfully stark, found awash iniquitous shores, hereabout,
Beholdest, then, the ripening pear, the souring apple, and the rotting heart.
Amid sour revelry, affronted, upon the envisaged cornerstone of aboriginality,
Where’d accursed, are ashamed, in the bane of glaringly covetous doubt.
Here then, forevermore, amongst the deep, thou bore witness to proud disbelief,
Firs’ unfelling, irreparably recant, contortedly testimonial, to silenced remand.
     White
Fro, then, the fading of the distancing light once so warmly and brightly shone,
Venomously, the fallen, with scorn from the redound hone, without repentance…
Where, spirits are slaine in dark, vexatious, in adorning to the animus of essence,
Tolling, foreverly, these belling whirs of doom, with resentence to conformity.
Defeated, everly, to reprobation, abound the ageless aberration, confound,
Astound, these redoubting, the consecrations decreed, where angels fly not freely…
       Throne
Unimaginably, then, the inevitable came, in abhorrence, so decadently infamed,
Through all odds, and beyond all shallowed meadows, within hapless happening.
Understand this final dictation, and this graven declaration, thus disillusioned,
Behest, of which is life does in due time, surely without hesitation, come to an end.
So what is this contradiction called life, if not means…to an end?
Such is an affirmation, to the ample conceptuary of the morbidst’ mortuary…
                Hostis Humaniis Generis